


Sunday Afternoon

by InfraVioletUltraRed



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ch. 2 is 'the fun part', F/M, the fun part is later, this is just like cheer-up fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 21:59:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12442632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfraVioletUltraRed/pseuds/InfraVioletUltraRed





	1. Chapter 1

You sat on the couch, curled in a position that wasn’t really comfortable, but for the time being, wasn’t outright painful, so you didn’t move. You’d been seated like that for most of the day, to tell the truth, in a variety of positions—knees bent, knees straight, knees up against your chest, legs spread, lying down, sitting up straight, legs crossed with your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands… You’d been moving around a lot in that one spot on the couch, though you hadn’t really done much other movement (like walking around kind of stuff—like going outside, perhaps). It was overcast and sort of dreary out, though, like your mood, so it wasn’t like the great outdoors was looking so great, or tempting you out into her greatness.

So you stayed on the couch. You thought about watching a movie, or playing a video game, or really, doing anything other than having a cold cup of coffee at a snail’s pace (that was how it had gotten cold, after all) and refreshing the same three apps over and over.

It’s not like your phone was blowing up with messages, anyway, why keep checking it? _Sigh._

Maybe reading would help? You opened up the novel you were working your way through. And nope, the narrator-protagonist is an asshole. Oh well. Maybe some other time, when you felt like suffering fools; you didn’t have the patience right now. So you wouldn’t be moving on to the next book (in audiobook form) anytime soon. _Sigh._

The worst of it was that time was moving slowly, and too quickly. It was already fairly late in the day on a Sunday afternoon, but when noon had passed, it seemed that time had started passing horribly slowly. So you were trapped in a time bubble where nothing felt good.  _Sigh._

Maybe you were just lonely? You picked up your phone and started tapping out a status, asking if anyone wanted to hang out. You’d have to get dressed to go out or to entertain, but… if it got you out of this funky haze, you’d do it. But you couldn’t bring yourself to actually post it—how desperate would that look? “Hey, everyone, I need attention, anyone wanna come hang out?”

You put your phone down, and looked away from it, trying to stop yourself before tears even started welling in your eyes—you could feel in your sinuses that the tears were _trying_ to come. You rested your chin in your hands again, drumming your fingers along one cheek. You couldn’t cry about this.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. You picked it up, eyeing it suspiciously. It was probably some facebook game notification or something.

Nope. It was a text, from a real person, trying to contact you. Cool. You opened it.

**Prompto:** Hey! Haven’t heard from you in a while, or seen you on social media. You doin okay?

You started to type out “I’m fine,” but then you stopped. Why lie to him?  
**Me:** No, not really haha. Feeling kinda lonely rn, haven’t felt like going out.

You sent the message before you stop yourself, then added “thank you for asking, btw :)”

He responded almost immediately.

**Prompto:** It was no problem. I was just getting worried. You cool with having company?

Now you _were_ going to cry.

**Me:** Yeah, I’d love that, actually. I just need to get dressed.  
        *Better dressed that is. Oops.

**Prompto:** You don’t have to  
                   Oh. Haha. See you soon!

You rifled through your clothes, looking for something cute to wear. It didn’t have to be too nice, in fact, that would be over the top, but… you did want to look kind of nice. Finally, you slipped something on and went to make sure the seat you’d near-melted into recently on the couch looked presentable, and not like you’d been planted there all day. Whatever. It was fine. He was going to be here soon, anyway. And he knew you weren’t in a good place. It’d be fine.

You sat down, waiting. You checked your phone. Oh, you’d missed a message from Prompto, asking about… favorite textures and flavors and stuff.

Well, nuts. And another where he said never mind, he’d handle it.

You were confused. Oh, well. He said he would handle it. Whatever it was.

There was a knock at your door, and you sprang up to open it, looking into Prompto’s smiling face. It was hard not to smile when just looked so… sunny, and it was so contagious, so you grinned too, as you invited him in.

He settled down onto your couch, putting a bag on the floor by his feet while you wandered into the kitchen, shouting to ask if you could get him anything.

“We have milk—both kinds—uh, water, obviously, a couple kinds of juice, anything?”

You could hear him laugh, even from the kitchen. “No, I’m good.” He called back.

You came back to him with a glass of water and put it down on the side table, then settled yourself into a seated position next to him (though far enough away that you weren’t touching, as much as you might have wanted to cuddle right up next to him).

“Anyway, I want to thank you for checking on me, and coming to visit on short notice like this.”

“I mean, if I’m honest, I was going to come see you today, even if you weren’t so down. Or try, at least, I guess if you were busy, I wouldn’t have.” He reached out and took your hand, squeezed it, then wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him. “So it’s obviously not a problem.”

You sighed, leaning into him. “Okay.”

“Now,” he let you go to bend down and reach into the bag, “for what I came here for.” He pulled out a fleece blanket and snapped his wrists to open it. As it settled over you, he wrapped it more tightly around you, tucking the edges under you. He stood up and kept digging in the bag. “I don’t know how you feel about mixing sweet and savory, so I’ll keep them separate, but,” he lifted Hershey’s kisses and an (un-popped) bag of microwave popcorn out of the bag, “you ought to try these together. It’s really good. I thought it might cheer you up a little. Maybe just one or the other, if you _really hate_ the combination. But still.”

You smiled. “Should I show you how to use the microwave?”

“Nah, I’ll figure it out… hopefully. You just stay seated.”

As he walked off, you called to him, “Don’t burn the popcorn!”

Luckily, and surprisingly, he didn’t.  So he came back and sat next to you with the bag of popcorn and opened the bag of kisses, unwrapping one and handing it to you so he could open the bag of popcorn.

When he had, you reached in and grabbed a small handful of the kernels and put them and the kiss in your mouth, chewing thoughtfully. He was right, it _was_ good.

He smiled. “I can tell you like it.”

You nodded. Then you shrieked as you felt yourself being lifted off the couch. You came down with a slightly graceless whump and looked around dumbly.

You… were in Prompto’s lap. You looked at him, the question in your eyes traveling to your lips, but before you could ask it, he smiled, snaking an arm around your waist.

He shrugged before he spoke. “I just wanted to hold you. I know it’s hard for you to admit when you’re not doing well.” He ran the hand that had been around your waist over your hair, applying a little pressure backwards to let you lean against his shoulder. “But bodily contact is supposed to help that. So you can just sit like that. We can hang out like this. This is good enough for me.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Unless and until you want to do something other than cuddle, that is. You can even fall asleep, if you want. I won’t mind.”

He was always nice, but this was exceptionally kind of him. You took a deep breath and relaxed against him. It was nice, in his arms and wrapped up like a blanket burrito, a low-pressure hangout just so you could have some human contact.

“Hey, Prompto?” you mumbled, sighing again.

“What’s up?”

“Thank you. I love you.”

He stammered for a moment, but then just replied, “I love you, too.”


	2. Sweet and Spicy

You didn’t know why you were so nervous as you rang the doorbell. You were just going to drop off the blanket Prompto had brought over last weekend, and give him the chili-chocolate bar you had picked up—directly from the Lindt store, too—as some extra thanks. And kind of a reference to the chocolate kisses he’d given you (which you still had, actually, but in a candy dish now).

When he opened the door, you grinned. “Hey, Prompto!”

“Hey, Y/n. What’s up?”

“Oh, I just wanted to return your blanket from last weekend. I washed it, ‘cuz I’m pretty sure I drooled on it during my nap… I used it a couple times over the last week, too. So… yeah, I washed it and you can have it back now. And I brought you this.” You foisted the chocolate into his hand.

“Ooh, sweet and spicy, huh?”

You let out a laugh, just on the brink of nervous. “Yup! I figured you might like it, or at least think it had been worth a try. I like them.”

“Well, then. That’s adventurous. Maybe more adventurous than I am.” He looked at the cardboard label. “…this is _really nice_ chocolate, Y/n. You didn’t have to.”

You shrugged. “I guess not, but I wanted to.”

“Well, that’s sweet. Do you have some time to actually come in? I just realized we’ve been talking like, right inside the door.”

“Yeah,” you replied, “I don’t have anywhere to be today. I can stay, if you want me to.”

“I’d love for you to.”

You both settled yourselves on the couch, and Prompto immediately opened the chocolate. “I’m actually pretty eager to try this,” he told you. “Maybe I am that adventurous.” He cracked off a piece, then offered you some.

“Oh, no, not until you’ve offered your formal review,” you replied, holding back a laugh.

He shrugged and popped the chocolate into his mouth, then chewed for a few seconds. He let out a shuddering breath. “I- wow. That’s… it’s _hot_.” He swallowed. “Pretty good, though.”

You grinned. “Glad you like it.” He offered you a piece again, and this time, you took it. As you swallowed it, the chili paste burning your tongue and throat, you began to speak again. “So yeah, that was as thanks for last weekend.”

You paused. The entire way over to Prompto’s place, you’d had this fantasy running through your head, that you would give him the chocolate, and you’d both have some, and then… you would thank him in _other ways_. Spicier ways, even than the chocolate.

He’d kissed your cheek last weekend as you’d rested against him, your head on his shoulder, and at that moment, you’d been staring at his neck and thought about how nice it would be to kiss it. You’d been consumed by the thought since then. And now here he was, and you had a brand-new opportunity to just do it.

But first you’d have to scoot closer to him, so you did; in incremental movements, you worked your way along the couch until you were sitting so that you could feel the warmth of his leg as your knee pressed against his. He looked over at you, blinking, as if waiting for you to say something. You just stared at him, your tongue parting your lips to press against the edge of your top lip, until you relaxed it with a little pop noise and leaned up toward him, resting your forearms on his shoulders and pressing your lips to his.

His arms were around you, hands resting on your back, almost immediately as he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth to yours as he gently moved you to straddle his lap.

You didn’t move after you’d settled where he seemed to want you, all your weight on your knees on either side of his hips, your bodies entirely separate except for your hands on each other and your mouths attached.

But that changed soon after, as his hands drifted down your back and over your hips onto your ass, pulling you forward, then smoothing his hands back up to your hips to try to pull you down onto him. You followed his lead, dropping your weight, and slid your hands off his shoulders and down his chest as you situated yourself, still straddling him, though much closer to him now. You gave an experimental thrust against him, and found that you’d struck pay dirt, as it were—he let out a moan. You did it again, more pressure this time, knowing what you were in for, and he moaned again—more quietly. As he did, he began to bring a hand down, to rub you through your pants.

Before he could, though, you had pulled back from the kiss to look into his eyes, hands on either side of his face to make him look at you, to hold his gaze.

“No,” you whispered, voice coming out breathier and rougher than you’d expected, “this is about you.”

Something changed in his eyes then. The deep blue took on a softer tone. It was almost like… tears had welled in his eyes. Your face fell as you took a hand off the side of his face to run your thumb just under his right eye, along the curve of his cheekbone. You decided to clarify your last statement as your hand returned to the side of his face, your thumbs rubbing small circles near his temples.

“You made me feel good again last week. Now I want to make _you_ feel good.”

He nodded at that, blinking so the tears dissipated. Your thumbs stilled as you leaned in and kissed him again, sighing. Then you got up off him, undoing and wriggling out of your pants, your underwear coming with. You returned to your position, though a little further back on his legs for the time being, to give yourself space to work at his belt and fly.

You had to hold Prompto’s hips down as you worked, as the pressure and the nearness and the _waiting_ had his hips attempting to rock up. So when everything was undone, and you stopped leaning on him, removing all the pressure, his hips shot up and you near-tore his pants off to get at what was beneath. You let his pants pool around his ankles as you curled your fingers around his cock, and committed to an agonizingly slow stroke, considering.

Better you just ask. “So… what did you have in mind?” You couldn’t believe you hadn’t had a plan, until now, now that you were both half-naked. What a fool you’d been.

He didn’t seem to think so, though. With a pant, he responded, “I’ll love whatever you do, just do _something_.”

Time to go for it, then, you figured, removing your hand from him to peel off both his and your shirts, and unhook your bra. You ignored his whine as you grabbed the hem of your shirt, but smiled to yourself as it morphed into a choppy laugh as the rest of the material separating him from you was removed. His hands immediately ran up your body to latch onto your breasts, and you let out a low moan as you moved forward, lifting yourself up, using his shoulders to support yourself.

You sank your nails into his skin as you sank onto him, so you weren’t sure if the hiss he let out was out of pain or pleasure. When you were seated, you released your grip, flexing your fingers as you rested your forehead against Prompto’s. He found your lips with his own, and you sat there for a moment, him soaking in you as you kissed, before you pulled away and began to rise off his lap, feeling his hands grip your hips to guide you.

You leaned in again, and kissed from the corner of his mouth to where his jaw met his neck. As you sank onto him, you ground down, nipping where you mouth was, earning you a gasp that quickly turned to a moan. You laughed against his neck as you licked over the bite to soothe.

Awkward as it was in your position, you bent to keep kissing down his neck, then back up the other side, until you reached his ear, where you took his earlobe into your mouth, sucking on it lightly before you released it.

When you were in front of him again, he sighed out, “This isn’t just for last week, is it?”

You laughed. “No. But I’ve been seriously daydreaming about it since then.”

He ducked his head to suck at a patch of skin an inch below your collarbone, and when he pulled back, there was a maroon mark in his wake. “There,” he said, “a souvenir.”

You took a heaving breath, then answered him, “Now I’ll have to pay you back for that, too.” You came down on him hard, then, both of you gasping.

“Nah. We can just do this more often, and it’ll even out.”

You took another heavy breath. “Sounds fair. I think we’ll,” _gasp_ , “be done for this round soon anyway.”

“Y-yeah. _Now_ can I touch you?”

“ _Yes,_ Prompto. Please.” His hand left your hip instantly, to find its destination with no trouble. Your gasps were coming out faster and closer together, pitching higher and higher until they were nearly shrieks and with a rush of breath, you came, flopping forward, but continuing to roll your hips until Prompto was shaking under you, breathing in sharply and letting out nothing but choruses of “fuck” and your name.

You slid off him slowly, then settled next to him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and looked around him for the blanket you’d just brought back to him. He unfolded it and draped it over both of you, resting his head against yours and shutting his eyes.

“Prompto, you’re going to need to wash it again.”

Sounding sleepy, he laughed and said, “mmnah. It’ll smell like you. Like us.”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. At least, not yet. Maybe when you woke up. You shut your eyes, too, the taste of chili chocolate still burning on your tongue.


End file.
